


An Eligible Gentleman

by withdiamonds



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for J2_everafter.  Can Sir Jensen Ackles, with his closed-off heart, find true love in Regency London? It's a Cinderella story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eligible Gentleman

  
  
  
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 _Prologue_

"Shhhh," Jeffrey laughed softly in Jensen's ear. "It would not do for my mother to hear us."

Jensen shivered as hot breath brushed over his sensitive skin. "Your mother is as deaf as a doornail," he replied, turning in Jeffery's arms. Jeffrey laughed again, warm and rumbling.

"She is, indeed," he said, kissing Jensen chastely. Jensen's lips were swollen and slick from the kisses they had shared earlier, and he ran his tongue over his lower lip as Jeffrey pulled back. Jeff growled.

He took hold of Jensen's wrist and tugged him hastily up the stairs behind him, as Jensen, caught unawares, struggled not to trip over his own, suddenly clumsy feet.

They reached Jeffrey's bedchamber quickly, and Jeff pushed him inside, turning and locking the door behind them. Jensen held his hands up in surrender, throwing Jeffrey a heated look, and took a step backwards. He hoped it was in the direction of the bed.

"My Lord, I believe it is time for me to have my wicked way with you," Jeffrey said, advancing on Jensen, his eyes shining with lust, and something else, something that looked very much like love.

Jensen took another step back, smiling at Jeffrey. "It is your last night in England for quite some time," he said. "I would be most disappointed if you were _not_ to have your wicked way with me."

The backs of his knees hit the bed, and he stopped, unable to ward off the icy feeling of apprehension that swept through him at the thought of Jeffrey leaving to join in the fighting on the Continent. He shook his head, embarrassed at his emotion, and said airily, "Jeffrey Dean Morgan, recently promoted Captain in the Horse Guards, off to fight in the Peninsula War." He couldn't keep the note of pride out of his voice, in spite of his fears. "And he is all mine this night."

Jeffrey advanced again, stopping in front of Jensen and looking at him with serious eyes. "Yes, he is. And every night you wish it, my Lord, when I have returned." He reached out to stroke Jensen's face, and Jensen turned, rubbing his cheek against Jeffrey's strong fingers.

"You must promise that you will come back to me, Jeff," Jensen whispered. "You must promise me that you will be safe."

"I promise," Jeffrey said, his eyes bright with happiness.

 

  
  
  
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Viscount Ackles was bored out of his mind.

There were no two ways around it; he was bored. No other word would do. _Uninterested_ came to mind, but it was too insipid a word to even be considered. _Dull_ worked, but that, too, couldn't quite communicate just how stultifying he was finding this party to be.

It was tedious, dreary, lackluster, and mind-numbingly boring.

He thought of his former tutor, thought of how proud Robert would be of Jensen's skill with his vocabulary, his vast repertoire of words, his impressive knowl –

"Jensen, dear, do pay attention," his mother said with mild reproof in his ear. Jensen started, and flushed just a bit. Lady Ross placed a warm hand on his arm. She was inconveniently seated right next to him, so that she could see how he fidgeted.

Not that he was so ill-bred as to truly fidget, but he may have been guilty of shifting in his seat occasionally, and he had fashioned a rather neat structure on his plate from the delicate bones of his half-eaten roast partridge.

Jensen suppressed a sigh, not wishing his mother to hear him. There was no reason to court danger by letting Lady Ross know just how very bored he was by the three lovely ladies who had been granted the happy privilege of dining with them this evening. Dinner was prior to the small party his mother was giving, and Jensen could not begin to describe how dreary he thought the assorted parents and family who accompanied the ladies were. They were all here for Jensen's perusal, and he couldn't have been less interested.

He reiterated all the words in his head that described his boredom as he smiled apologetically at his mother. Tedious, lackluster and insipid certainly best described the three young ladies his mother seemed to think he might want to marry.

Well, naturally she didn't expect him to marry all three of them. She just expected him to choose one, if not from these three ripe specimens, then from any number of the lovely young ladies she seemed to constantly parade in front of him.

Jensen didn't understand why he had to choose a wife at all. He just wasn't inclined to settle down yet. He enjoyed the freedom of being a single man, of engaging in more interesting pursuits with his friends, rather than dangling after insipid females.

That was certainly the reason he gave his mother when she raised the subject, but the sad look he saw in her eyes when he caught her looking at him unawares told him she wasn't fooled. She was usually kind enough not to pursue the matter, and for that he loved her a great deal.

She was, however, determined to see him safely enmeshed in a happy state of matrimonial bliss. She seemed to think he was going to game away his entire fortune at cards, or perhaps spend it all on horses, unless he settled down and established his own household.

"Jensen, dear, I've been wondering," his mother said, tilting her head and looking at him appraisingly, "Would you prefer a young man instead?"

Jensen choked on his wine.

His father sent him a disapproving look from the head of the table, and Jensen could feel his face turn pink as he sputtered into his napkin.

"Are you all right, dear?" his mother asked, all kind consideration, as if she had not just said, well, _that_. Jensen could only stare at her in horror. "What?" she said tartly. "I'm not stupid, Jensen, nor am I blind." Her voice softened. "And it has been three years, my love."

"No, ma'am," Jensen croaked, and he cleared his throat in order to try again. He refused to acknowledge the sudden tightness in his throat caused by her words. "No, I know you're not stupid, Mama. I –" he stopped. He had no idea what to say. Three years, three lifetimes, what did it matter? He had lost the only man – the only _person_ he would ever love, and even his mother couldn't fix that.

"It's just, if you would prefer a young man over a young lady, I will stop wasting my time and energy on girls," Lady Ross was saying. She smiled mischievously at him. "I've had my eye on a few eligible gentlemen, as a matter of fact. The Weatherly boy, the eldest one, seems very nice indeed."

Jensen closed his eyes as he felt the heat rise in his face again. His mother couldn't possibly be saying what it sounded like she was saying. Michael Weatherly?

"But I thought you wanted –"

His mother interrupted him. "No, dear. Joshua has provided us with an heir already, and I have a suspicion Lady Allison is increasing again." She put a finger to her lips. "Not a word, now, darling. She will inform us in her own good time, I'm sure. I don't think she has mentioned it to your brother as yet."

Lady Ross smiled up at Jensen, her eyes bright with maternal affection. "No, Jensen, I only wish for your happiness." Putting up a hand to forestall his protest, her many rings sparkling in the light of the massive candelabras that graced the ducal table, his mother continued. "I know you think that beyond your reach, my love, but I am your mother and I am _determined_ that you shall have someone with whom to share your life."

She directed an affectionate smile toward the head of the table, where Jensen's father sat engaged in conversation with Lady Allison, who was looking slightly bilious in the candlelight. She must indeed be in a delicate condition, Jensen thought. That would explain the faint green tinge to her skin as she looked at the many fine delicacies spread before her.

It was either that or the pheasant was off. Jensen peered doubtfully at the pile of bones on his plate, just as a servant appeared to whisk it away.

Lady Ross waited for Jensen to speak, but all he could manage was a weak smile. His mother nodded purposefully. "It is decided. We shall hold a ball, and invite all the eligible young ladies _and_ eligible young men of the ton." She patted Jensen's hand and gave him a watery smile, her eyes just a little too bright.

Jensen felt very uneasy at this pronouncement. He refrained from tugging at his cravat, but only barely. He really didn't want to ruin the snowy folds he had worked so hard to achieve, but he knew what his mother could accomplish with the bit between her teeth.

"And then you shall chose, and you shall be happy," Lady Ross declared with finality.

 

  
  
  
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Jared was often surprised that his stepmother even bothered to hire servants, since she seemed to think Jared should do the work of ten men.

On the one hand, she apparently thought Jared was the only person who could clean the cold ashes out of the drawing room fireplace in the mornings, or wash the outside of the windows on the highest floor of the elegant house on Grosvenor Street that she had inherited from Jared's father.

On the other hand, it wasn't as if she wished to have anyone but her imposing butler open the door to visitors, or the most proper of footmen wait at her table. It wasn't as if she wanted Jared showing his face to visitors.

It also wasn't likely that she would want their meals to be dependent on Jared's skill as a cook, or the order and cleanliness of the many rooms of the house to rely on his ability to manage a household, or wield the silver polishing cloth.

So it was therefore necessary for her to keep a household staff employed, for which Jared was very grateful.

That didn't mean she wasn't perfectly happy to count on him when it came time to clean up the muddy footprints when the dogs managed to get into the house, as they inevitably did, or when the housemaids needed wood carried up to the many bedroom fireplaces.

Jared was engaged in just such an activity, involving many large, muddy footprints, when the bell over the front door rang. He was perched on the first step of the curved staircase that led from the grand entryway up to the second floor, scrubbing determinedly at a dab of mud on the polished wood, when he heard his stepmother's voice.

"Get back to the kitchen, you," Lady Padalecki flung at him sharply, as Kripke made his stately approach to the front door. "And why haven't you stayed to the back stairs where you belong?" she added, disdain curling her painted lips.

Jared would have pointed out that the muddy footprints were on the _front_ stairs, but she had already shown him her back.

"Good day," Kripke intoned, as he swung the door open to reveal a footman dressed in smart dark green livery. The man held out a highly embossed envelope, and he bowed gracefully as Kripke took it from his hand.

Kripke slipped a gold coin into the footman's fist and shut the door. Lady Padalecki snatched the letter from him almost before he could hold it out to her, and tore it open with an avid gleam in her eye.

"Well, I must say this is most delightful and unexpected," she said, her eyes scanning the gilt-edged paper. "Kripke, summon Master Michael and Master Thomas. Tell them to come to the drawing room." She swept from the room without a backward glance.

It would be easy enough for the housemaid Kripke sent on this errand to find Lady Padalecki's sons, for it was before noon and neither of them made it a habit to emerge from their bedchambers before such a time as luncheon was already on the table.

Sure enough, it was at least fifteen minutes before Tom came down the stairs, every hair in place in the ridiculous hairstyle he'd taken to affecting, dark curls swept so high he was in danger of not being able to find a place on his head for his hat to sit. His high shirt points and elaborately arranged cravat bespoke the dandy, and as always, Jared was at a loss as to why Tom felt he needed to wear padding under the shoulders of his coat. It gave Jared a bit of guilty pleasure that despite his attempts, Tom was never quite able to achieve Jared's height and breadth.

It made Tom dangerously furious.

He glared at Jared as he descended the grand staircase. The muddy dog prints were long gone, but Jared remained, scrubbing busily at the floor. He had a lively curiosity and was not about to miss out on whatever caused Lady Padalecki to rouse her sons so early in the day.

Michael came clattering down the stairs after his brother, his cravat askew in a manner Jared was sure Michael thought was rakish, but Jared just thought careless. His light brown hair stuck out in several directions, but he made no attempt to smooth it down as he followed his brother into the drawing room. He threw a taunting smile at Jared as he closed the door behind him.

Jared was left alone in the hall, but not for long.

"Sadie, no!" The outraged voice of the kitchen maid reached Jared's ears, just as a graceful dog with tall, pointed ears skittered into the hall. Jared laughed as a big, clumsy mastiff-mix came galumphing in close on her heels.

"Harley, what are you doing, boy?" Jared chuckled, throwing an arm around the big dog's neck and pulling him close, scratching behind his ears.

"Woof!" Harley rolled his eyes in ecstasy.

The kitchen maid came around the corner, skidding to a halt when she saw Jared. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her face turning pink. She gave a curtsey and said, "Master Jared, Sadie stole a chicken! She snatched it right off the table! Cook is furious!"

Jared looked around, but he didn't see evidence of a chicken. Then he caught sight of several feathers on Harley's muzzle, and he threw back his head and laughed. Partners in crime, as always.

The kitchen maid backed up a step, casting a doubtful look at Jared as she did.

Harley barked again, and this time the door to the drawing room opened rather abruptly.

"Jared," his stepmother's voice said coldly, "Why have those animals been allowed to make such a noise in my house?" Lady Padalecki stood staring up at him, Tom beside her, Michael peering curiously out from behind her shoulder.

"Sorry, ma'am," Jared said. The kitchen maid had disappeared the instant the door opened, and Jared made shooing motions at the dogs. He lived in constant fear that Lady Padalecki would send them away with their next transgression.

They were his only friends and he couldn't bear to lose them.

With a last withering look, Jared's stepmother turned back into the room, and Tom resumed reading from the gilt-edged paper clutched in his hand.

"- all the eligible young ladies and young men in England to a ball, the 23rd of September, at eight o'clock in the evening -"

Jared placed his hand on the door to prevent Lady Padalecki from closing it in his face.

"All the eligible young ladies and young men in England? To a ball?" Jared tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. He was just as eligible a young man as Tom and Michael were. His father had a title, and while it may have gone to his uncle upon his father's death, that didn't make Jared any less eligible for attendance at a ball. "That includes me," he said with determination. There was no reason to fear his stepmother, at least not physically anymore. The top of her head barely reached Jared's shoulder.

Lady Padalecki was still for a moment, her face expressionless, and then she turned to her sons.

"What say you, my loves? Thomas, do you think Jared eligible? Shall he be included in the invitation?" Her eyes raked insultingly up and down Jared's body, and then they continued up, exaggerating his height, and she said scornfully, "Will his great size make him attractive to Viscount Ackles, Thomas? Will the charming Sir Jensen wish to attach himself to such a great lump?"

Jared was so accustomed to being poked at for his size that his stepmother's words went in one ear and out the other.

Save for the words _Sir Jensen._ Viscount Ackles was one of the most handsome men Jared had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Jared wasn't often in company, and he was never permitted to attend any of the numerous parties, routs and balls that his stepbrothers went to, but he had had occasion to meet Viscount Ackles once, and it was something he had never forgotten.

The Padaleckis and the Rosses may have moved in the same social circles, but Sir Jensen didn't keep the same company as Michael and Tom, although Jared's stepbrothers would have been happy to count Viscount Ackles one of their friends.

Fortunately, for the sake of Jared's faith in Sir Jensen's common sense and good taste, they could do no such thing. Michael sailed very near to the wind, from what Jared could gather from his numerous arguments with Tom.

He kept very bad company, frequented gaming hells, and was very fond of actresses. He could often be found in the late night hours after a performance with what Tom referred to as a _cozy armful._ If his mother had known of his gaming debts, she surely would have fallen into a swoon.

Tom, on the other hand, was a very pious young man, and his friends were all as stuffy and block-headed as he was.

From what Jared had gathered from servants' gossip and the occasional tidbits his stepmother dropped, Viscount Ackles was much admired by his peers, was a splendid hand at horses, dressed with an air of fashion, pleased the ladies greatly, was a steadfast and true friend, a charming brother to his siblings, a dutiful son to his father, and loved his mother very much.

There was no occasion for such a paragon of virtue, then, to be found at the large house in Grosvenor Street, nor for Tom and Michael to visit the Ross residence. However, fate had smiled on Jared not so many months ago when Lady Padalecki had invited Lady Ross for tea, and Sir Jensen had dutifully accompanied her.

Being a well-known horseman, Sir Jensen had gone into the yard to check out the Padalecki stables, along with Tom and Michael. Jared was there attending to some chores, and he had paused in mucking out the stall of a large, handsome black horse when he heard a man say, in an low, pleasing voice, "You're quite a brute, aren't you, boy."

Michael had guffawed loudly and said, "He is, isn't he?"

Jared straightened up, confused. He knew he was big, but he would never have considered the word _brute_ in relation to himself. He peered curiously around the stables, but the man, whom Jared had never seen before, did not seem to be talking to him.

He was a tall man, although not as tall as Jared, well built and well dressed, and he was talking to the stallion tethered in the next stall. It was difficult to tell in the dim light of the stables, but Jared thought he was quite handsome, and that perhaps his eyes were green.

Tom was frowning, as confused as Jared had been, until he spotted Jared. His gaze darkened and he muttered something about people who were _unnaturally tall_.

Now it was the visitor's turn to look around in confusion.

"Don't mind him, my Lord," Michael said derisively, jerking his head at Jared. The man turned to see who Michael was talking about. "He's as stupid as he is over-large."

Jared flushed, but stood his ground. The stranger looked at him with frank interest in his eyes, which made Jared blush even more. "I am Viscount Ackles," the man said with a bow. "And you are?"

Tom and Michael both protested at once that Jared was nobody, and before either Jared or Viscount Ackles had a chance to respond, they hustled the tall, handsome visitor away.

But as they left the stables, Jared heard Viscount Ackles say, "Unhand me, Thomas. Your great paw is wrinkling my coat." As he shrugged Tom's hand off his arm, Sir Jensen turned to look at Jared over his shoulder, and there was a small, apologetic smile on his face. "Everyone is somebody," he said.

Jared nodded once, and the smile widened, before Michael said, "I believe my mother has acquired several bottles of wine recently that may appeal to your palate, Sir Jensen, if I may be so bold," and then they were gone, leaving Jared alone in the cool shade of the stables.

He stood quite still for several moments, before shaking himself and getting back to work, the memory of warm green eyes and a kind smile lingering through the long afternoon.

The memory remained far past that day, if Jared were to be honest. He so rarely met with kindness from anyone except Cook and Harley and Sadie, that he held Sir Jensen's face close to his heart, taking it out when he needed to remember the warmth of that smile.

Now Tom scowled at Jared and appeared to be trying to make himself smaller in his mother's presence. Jared wrenched himself away from his reminisces and suppressed a smile.

"What do you say, Michael?" Lady Padalecki was saying. "Are there clothes to be had to cover Jared's ankles? Boots to be found big enough for his feet?" Her laugh tinkled around them, and she placed a manicured hand on Michael's arm. "Or dancing shoes, my dear? Surely it would be impossible to obtain dancing shoes of a sufficient size to fit him."

Michael's laughter joined his mother's, and after a moment, Tom lost his frown and smirked at Jared. Jared smiled back, wide and sunny. It was a habit of his, and something that seemed always to disconcert Tom more than if Jared had lost his temper.

"Lord and Lady Ross are having a ball," Lady Padalecki said coldly to Jared. Michael continued to giggle as his mother spoke, and she sent him a displeased glance before she went on. "They wish to introduce their son to all the eligible young ladies and young men in the land. They wish him to settle down before he loses his entire fortune at gaming, or spends it all on those ridiculously splendid horses of his."

Jared glanced at the invitation, which seemed much too small to contain such a large amount of information. Besides, he did not believe that Viscount Ackles was the type of man to game away his fortune.

Lady Padalecki's eyes glittered cruelly at him. "If you can contrive to dress yourself suitably, and still attend to your work here in my house, you may go to the ball." She held up her hand to forestall the protests coming from both Michael and Tom. "Yes, my loves, I am aware. But I am sure I can depend upon you both to keep our dear Jared sufficiently busy for the next week." She smiled at Jared. "One mustn't neglect one's duties, after all."

She swept from the room, leaving the three men to stare at each other in silence.

Until Michael gave a loud cackle and said, "Jared, my boots are in need of a fresh coat of polish. And I am sure Cook needs a hand in the kitchen," he added, his eyes shining maliciously.

Tom tried unsuccessfully to loom over Jared as he said, "There is plenty of tack in the stables to be cleaned."

Jared didn't care. He could do it all, and still find the time to obtain clothing to wear to the Ross's ball.

He was sure of it.

 

  
  
  
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Jensen leaned back in his chair and yawned widely. He caught Christian's eye as he threw down the last of his cards and raked a small pile of money across the green baize table.

Christian nodded. "I do believe it is time to go, my Lord," he drawled. He made a show of pulling his timepiece from his pocket and glancing at it. "The stars will be fading from the sky soon."

Across the table, Lord Carlson glowered at the glittering jumble of notes and coins at Jensen's elbow. "Give me a chance to get some of my own back, Ackles," he said.

Jensen raised his eyebrows. "It's almost dawn, sir. I'm afraid there is insufficient time for more play this night." He stood up and bowed in Lord Carlson's direction. "I’m sure we'll play again."

Gathering up his winnings, Jensen stood, Chris at his back. They left together, and Jensen could feel Carlson's glare following them out of the gaming club.

The stars were still bright in the early morning sky, and the cool air felt good on Jensen's cheeks, flushed as they were with a heady combination of satisfaction and wine. Christian laughed and their shoulders bumped companionably as they made their way down the street toward the hackney stand.

"Will I see you at Almack's this evening, Christian?" Jensen enquired, hopefully.

"Almack's? Not a chance, m'lord," Christian responded. "You know I avoid that crush whenever possible."

Jensen shrugged. "Yes, indeed. Would that I could, also. But my mother insists upon attending this evening."

"I thought the ball she is having next week is meant to find you a bride. What is the purpose of dragging you to Almack's?" Christian inquired, making an unsuccessful attempt to hide his amusement.

Jensen shrugged. "I have not the least idea, except that she means for me to accompany Mackenzie and herself as often as I can be persuaded." He grimaced at the thought.

"I know your mother, Jensen," Christian said. "It is impossible to withstand her persuasion." He stepped off the curb and onto the darkened street.

Jensen sighed, following behind him. "Yes, I am well aware." They continued walking. "She is convinced this ball will answer. I am not at all sure why she thinks I should wish to settle down. I am quite content with my life as it is."

"I'm sure you are," Christian said, with a pat to Jensen's shoulder. Something in his voice made Jensen stop walking and turn to face his best friend. Christian met his eyes with a steady gaze, his face serious in the flickering light of the dimming streetlamps.

Jensen looked at him uncertainly. "Do you think I am not?"

It was Christian's turn to shrug. "I think that you think you're content." He grinned. "I think you are content playing cards and buying overpriced horses with me. But I also think you sometimes wish for something more." There was a pause, and then Christian echoed his mother's words. "It's been three years, Jensen." His hand gripped Jensen's shoulder tightly.

Jensen returned Christian's grin with a weak smile. He took much pleasure in Christian's company, it was true. He also knew that Christian preferred women, not men, when the circumstances were more…intimate. Not that Jensen was looking for a more intimate attachment. That was not a mistake he was likely to make twice. Once was enough for any lifetime.

"You are the second person in a week who has reminded me of that fact," Jensen said. He would like to have been angry, but truth be told, there was nothing to be angry at, other than perhaps fate. One could not be angry at war and honor, after all, or with one's mother or best friend.

Christian tilted his head and looked at him steadily. "I'm not suggesting that you fall in love, Jen. But I think that you are lonely." He raised a hand as Jensen started to protest. "I will say no more. Just…think about what we have said, your mother and I."

Jensen sighed once more. He felt no enthusiasm for his mother's ball, or the prospect of attaching himself to one person for life, but he could not deny that, in spite of his many friends and amusements, he was lonely.

"My mother is inviting both eligible ladies _and_ eligible gentlemen to her ball," he said. He knew Christian did not think less of him for being interested in both genders.

"That is a good thing," said Christian, as he hauled himself up into a hackney with a roguish wink. He gave his direction to the driver and then smiled kindly down at Jensen. "I will come to Almack's this evening, just for you, my friend. And we will look at all the fine ladies, _and_ the gentlemen who dangle after them."

The cab started off and Jensen stared after it in fond bemusement. "A ride, fine sir?" asked another cabbie.

Jensen shook his head. "I think I will walk, thank you. I could use both the fresh air and the exercise."

 

  
  
  
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Jared was almost finished with what he hoped was his last job of the afternoon. His stepbrothers had kept him working throughout the day, and when they retired to their chambers to prepare for the Ross ball, Kripke had taken over, ordering Jared to scrub the front steps, to help the housemaids beat the drawing room carpets, and to carry water up to the bedchambers above.

It seemed to Jared that it would never end. It had been this way everyday since the gilt-edged invitation had arrived. He wasn't stupid, he knew they were making sure he had no time to prepare his clothing for the ball.

But he had managed, late at night by the light of the one candle his stepmother allowed him to have in his small attic bedchamber, to put something by. The ceiling was low, there was barely room for him to stretch to his full height, and the small mirror over the battered dresser was cracked and fly-blown, but he could see his reflection well enough.

It was strange, because he really only had one pair of breeches, and they were no longer long enough to cover his knees, but three days ago, an old pair that Jared recognized as belonging to Tom appeared on his bed, along with a pair of white stockings.

For one crazy moment, he thought Tom had put them there, and then he shook his head at how unlikely it would be for Tom to show him any kindness or assist him in any way.

He thought of the housemaids. There was one of them in particular who sometimes looked at him with a flirtatious gleam in her eye and a warm smile on her rosy mouth. But he was sure she wouldn't risk the wrath that would come down on her head should she be caught helping Jared.

He had no idea how the clothing had materialized, until the snowy white cravat and the fashionable, although unfortunately puce-colored, waistcoat with the rather large brass buttons appeared a day later, along with shiny black Hessian boots. There was a suspicious damp spot on the cravat and definite canine teeth marks on one of the boots.

"Thanks, boy," Jared said softly to Harley, stroking between his ears, as he took the dogs outside into the stable yard for their daily exercise.

Sadie woofed at his side and Harley wagged his tail exuberantly.

"You, too, Sadie," Jared laughed, and she woofed again.

Thanks to the dogs, he had a whole ensemble put together, and if the breeches were just a little short, and the boots a little tight, and the waistcoat just a little ugly, what did it matter? He was going to the ball.

He escaped to his bedchamber as soon as Kripke's back was turned. If the silver wasn’t polished to his satisfaction, Jared would deal with that tomorrow.

He had no valet to help him dress, but he hadn't had anyone to help him since he was seven years old. When his father died, his stepmother, Mama Dawn, had moved him out of his nursery, discharged his governess, and relegated Jared to a small bedchamber under the roof.

There he slept alone, curled under a thin coverlet in the winter, forbidden a fire, and there, too, over the years, he sweltered in the summer's heat.

It was a confusing time. Jared was unsure of what had happened to his father, and no one was there to explain. He became accustomed to Lady Padalecki's sharp voice and unkind hands rousing him in the morning, until he quickly learned to wash and dress himself, before creeping down to the kitchen. At least Cook was willing to fuss over a small boy, and to make sure, over the years, that that same boy, growing like a weed, had enough to eat.

Jared also learned to keep himself company, and to smile at the horses and carriages and people he saw on the street beneath his window. He imagined where they might be going, where they had come from, what their lives might be like.

He thought about what it would be like to be free to go down the street whenever he wished to, to talk to other people, to live as other people did. But Lady Padalecki and her sons had made sure, when he was a boy, that he went nowhere and saw no one. And now that he was grown, he had nowhere to go and no one to show him.

He was not unlettered, thanks to one of the many tutors Michael and Tom went through. Mr. Beaver had been a kind man, and in the short time he was a part of the Padalecki household, and he had taught Jared to read and write in small bits of time snatched away from Michael and Tom.

He had been gone the moment Lady Padalecki had discovered Jared sitting in a corner by the kitchen fire, avidly reading. Her anger had been terrible, and she had ripped away the small book Jared held clutched in his hands and thrown it into the fire. She had slapped Jared's face when he protested, and from that time on, he had never allowed her to see him study.

But she could no more take the knowledge he had acquired away from him than she could stop Cook from making sure he had enough to eat, and Jared would forever be grateful to the long-gone tutor.

Lady Padalecki's sons were several years older than Jared, and from the moment his father died, they had been encouraged to treat Jared as little better than a servant. As they treated the servants of the house with execrable rudeness, and occasional cruelness, Jared could not count Michael and Tom as his friends.

He wasn't completely without friends, though. The head of Lady Padalecki's stables allowed him to play with the stable dogs, and from the moment they were acquired, Harley and Sadie were Jared's best, and only, playmates.

Jared had learned his manners from his father, and had also inherited his happy disposition. He made the housemaids laugh, and he wrestled with the stable boys, and if the very proper footmen gave him a wide berth, well, his life was better than it could have been.

And now he quickly scrambled into his clothes, tying his cravat the best he could, and pulling his boots on with only slight effort, more than grateful to Harley and Sadie for his costume.

His face was warm from his struggle with the boots, and he took several deep breaths before walking down the stairs and into the drawing room where his stepmother and stepbrothers were already gathered. He made sure to enter the room with what dignity and composure he could summon.

From the expression of stunned disbelief on Lady Padalecki's countenance, his appearance afforded her no great pleasure. Her face whitened in fury, with two spots of color high on her powdered cheeks, and her hands curled into claws at her side.

"Damn!" Tom said explosively, and Michael turned from the fireplace where he'd been warming his hands to see what had caught his brother's attention.

"Hell's teeth," Michael said. "No, Mother, I make you no apologies for my language," he said to Lady Padalecki, who, really, did not seem as if she could tear her eyes away from Jared long enough to demand one.

Jared stood awkwardly in the doorway, and Lady Padalecki smiled thinly, cold anger in her eyes. "Come in, Jared," she said graciously. "My dears," she purred, turning to her sons. "Here is Jared, ready for the ball. Come, Jared, show us your finery." Her false laugh tinkled musically and she closed her fan with a sharp snap.

Tom stared at Jared, looking rather stupid, his mouth opening and closing like a fish and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. It was not a flattering expression, and Jared was tempted to tell him to avoid such a look in the future.

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Thomas," he said, "I do believe our _brother_ ," his lips twisted disdainfully on the word, "Is wearing your pantaloons. And are those your third best Hessians on his feet?" He raised his quizzing glass to his eye and peered at Jared's boots. "And he was able to shove his boat-like feet into them? They'll be stretched beyond repair, Thomas." He shook his head sadly, but his eyes held a wicked glitter.

Jared began to realize this might not have been the best idea he ever had. Going to the ball, yes, but he should have slipped out the front door and made his own way to Lord Ackles' home, instead of attempting to go with the rest of his family.

Tom was obviously dumbfounded at Michael's words, which increased his resemblance to a fish, but Lady Padalecki was looking quite pleased. Jared's hand made it's way nervously to his cravat and Michael said, "Is that my necktie? And my waistcoat? Have you been _stealing_ from me, Jared," he asked dangerously.

"No," replied Jared, standing his ground. "They are things you no longer use, that had been set aside to give to charity."

"And you are in need of charity, aren't you, Jared, my dear?" Lady Padalecki was looking quite delighted with herself at the opportunity to remind Jared that he was completely dependent on his stepmother's good graces for each and every one of his needs.

Jared flushed and set his jaw, but said nothing. Michael sauntered over to the table, where a bottle of wine and several glasses sat. He poured the wine, gleaming red in the firelight, into four glasses, and held them out, one by one, to his brother and his mother. Turning to Jared, he held the fourth glass out with a slight bow.

"To a delightful night out," he intoned. Tom was looking puzzled at this sign of acquiescence to Jared's presence, but as Jared reached to take the glass, Michael's hand jerked and the dark red wine splashed down the front of Jared's clothing, instantly staining his breeches, his cravat, and his waistcoat.

Tom's laugh boomed. Michael pressed a hand to his chest and said, "Oh, dear. Look what I've done," a malicious gleam in his eye.

Jared gasped in shock. In an instant, all his hopes were crushed, and he saw clearly how foolish he had been. His heart sank. He should have known it was too good to be true, that his chance to leave this house, to go out among people of rank and fortune had never really been a chance, just a cruel tease.

His stepmother and her sons ignored him as if he were no longer there. Jared may as well have been invisible as they gathered up their cloaks and made ready to leave for the ball.

Jared stood in the center of the room, his hands clenched into fists at his side, his eyes closed as he listened to Lady Padalecki, Tom, and Michael depart, their voices raised in excitement for the evening and in the enjoyment of how they had crushed Jared's heart yet again.

Beside, him, Sadie nosed into his hand, and Harley pressed his big head against Jared's leg. The three of them stood there motionless for what seemed to be a very long time.

 

  
  
  
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After some time had passed, Jared shook his head, took a deep breath, and sighed. He looked down at the dogs and smiled sadly. "I guess I'm not going anywhere tonight, am I?"

He really couldn't bring himself to clean up the small bit of wine that hadn't splattered all over his clothing, the clothes he'd put so much hope into, the clothes that would have allowed him to meet Sir Jensen again. As he turned to leave the drawing room, to retreat back to his small bedchamber under the roof, back where he belonged, someone spoke.

"What do you mean, sir, you're not going anywhere tonight? You're not giving up, are you?"

It was a male voice, a little nasal, and sounding somewhat indignant; it was coming from the fireplace. Jared turned to see a rather tall man, with straw-colored hair and bright, though somewhat squinty, blue eyes. He was dressed quite fashionably, in pale yellow breeches and a fine coat of light blue, which sat very well across his shoulders. His cravat was arranged in an extravagant and complicated manner. A mischievous smile graced his lips and he looked at Jared expectantly.

"Excuse me?" Jared said. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure." His good manners showed themselves without thought, and Jared shook his head at himself and hastened to add, "How did you come to be in this house?" in what he hoped was an intimidating manner.

The man tilted his head at Jared, his smile widening. "Why should you wish to know that? I'm already here, aren't I?" He snorted in a most impolite way. "Really, Jared, what does it matter? I'm here to help you." He waved his hand airily in Jared's direction. "Unless you'd prefer to retire for the night?" There was a challenge in his voice, and Jared bristled at the implication that he would give up without a fight.

"No, I don't want to retire for the night. But –" Jared's voice tapered off. He didn't see that he had much of a choice in this situation. "I'm not sure what else is to be done."

The blond man shook his head mournfully. "And they told me you were a man of some spirit." He sighed dramatically. "You must see what's possible, Jared. If you don't see that, I can't help you." The nasal voice sounded a little wistful.

Jared just stared in bewilderment as the stranger flicked a invisible speck of dust off the sleeve of his fine coat, and then winked at Jared.

"Can you see it, Jared? Can you see what's possible?" The blond man squinted at Jared, looking a little unbalanced, and the bright blue jewel that nestled in the center of his neck cloth gleamed in the firelight. It was mesmerizing.

Jared wasn't sure how to answer him, since he was afraid he saw nothing at all, so he chose another tact. "May I know your name?" he asked.

"I am Chad Michael Murray," the man said, making a small bow in Jared's direction. He waited expectantly.

"Jared Padalecki," Jared said, also bowing. Chad frowned, as if he had expected more of a reaction from Jared, or perhaps at least a sign of recognition.

"Yes, I am aware," Chad said finally. "I thought maybe you'd heard of – in some circles - but, no matter." He strode to the table and picked up the wine decanter. Pulling out the stopper, he sniffed at it and wrinkled his nose delicately. "Expensive, but of poor quality nonetheless," he murmured. "You are the reason I'm here," he said, looking at Jared. He raised his wine glass in a toast and drained half of it, shuddering delicately.

"And what am I to do with anything?" Jared inquired. "Why should you wish to help me?"

"What does it matter? My god, man, you are far too taken with whys and wherefores for my taste. You are in danger of boring me." Chad tossed off the rest of his wine and reached again for the decanter.

"My apologies," Jared said stiffly. "I would not bore you for the world."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, for heaven's sake," Chad said. He grinned again. "Do you want to know how I may help you?" Jared wondered why he was the one being made dizzy, when Chad was the one drinking wine as if it were water.

He nodded. "Yes, please, tell me what is possible."

"Anything, if you want it enough," Chad replied. He poured himself more glass of wine. Jared waited, but no further enlightenment seemed to be forthcoming.

Jared frowned. "I have wanted many things very much over many years, and it has made not one whit of difference how badly I wanted them, I have not obtained them," he said, feeling the need to defend himself, for some reason, as if his situation in life was somehow his fault. As if the small boy he'd been hadn't tried hard enough, or believed enough.

"Do you want this?" Chad looked at him curiously. "Enough to believe?"

Jared thought about the years since his father's death. He thought about his stepmother's cruelty and neglect, his stepbrothers' scorn and hostility. He thought about his frustration at watching the world go by under his window, leaving him behind.

He nodded. "I want it. Give me something to believe in."

"You already have something," Chad said. He waited, watching Jared slyly through his eyelashes.

Jared thought about Sir Jensen's kind green eyes. His full lips, the freckles sprinkled across his nose, and his friendly smile and warm voice. His refusal to dismiss anyone, no matter how low their station in life.

"Yes, I do," he said, and he smiled.

Chad studied Jared's face for a moment. Jared held his breath, waiting. It was suddenly very important that Chad offer him something, offer him some hope.

"If you look outside the window, you will notice a carriage. It will take you to the ball, and it will bring you back here. At midnight, it will no longer be available." Chad laughed softly. "At midnight, it will no longer exist."

Jared moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy velvet drapery to stare out into the street. A neat carriage stood waiting, two dashing black horses at the ready. A tall, heavy man stood at their head, reins in his big hands. A smaller, petite man, with ears that stuck out rather remarkably, stood waiting to open the carriage door. Looking closer, Jared realized the smaller man was actually a girl, her hair tucked away under a cap.

"Yes," said Chad, with a delighted grin. "Harley and Sadie await you, also."

Startled, Jared looked quickly around the room, but the dogs were no longer with them. He stared back out the window, and laughed in befuddlement when he recognized the droop of Harley's eyes in the coachman's face.

"You must go," Chad said, pulling out a large gold pocket watch and glancing at it. "You don't precisely have all night for this adventure."

"But," Jared protested. "My clothes. I can't arrive at the Ross's ball looking as if I've already been to a rout."

"By Jove, I almost forgot." Chad opened his elaborately decorated enamel snuffbox and took a pinch of snuff, sniffing it with obvious delight, and then sneezing delicately into a tiny wisp of linen. "Look in the mirror, Jared," he said, and pointed to the mirror that hung over the damask-covered sofa.

Puzzled, Jared turned, staring into the mirror. He was struck momentarily speechless. Dressed in smooth yellow breeches, which fit him perfectly, he looked very tall. They fit him almost too perfectly, and Jared fought back a blush at how revealing of his form they were. His jacket of blue superfine looked as if it had required two men to help him shrug into it. He feet were clad in the most elegant evening shoes Jared had ever seen. All in all, he looked quite the gentleman, and it was something he'd never expected to see when he looked in a mirror.

Turning back to Chad, he bowed low. "Thank you," he said simply.

Chad smiled, his eyes squinting happily. "Go, my Lord," Chad said. "Your carriage awaits."

Jared nodded. He was almost through the drawing room door, when he stopped. "What?" he said, turning to look at Chad. "Did you just call me 'my Lord?' What do you mean by that?"

"What do you think I meant by it? Your father was Lord Padalecki. Who do you imagine inherited the title when he died?" Chad tilted his head enquiringly at Jared, sipping his wine delicately.

"My cousin?" Jared said.

"No, not at all," Chad said.

"But Lady Dawn – my stepmother – she said – " Jared stammered.

"She lied," Chad intoned simply. "She has lied to you many times, about many things, Jared. You would do well to remember that. Now, go."

Jared just stood there with his mouth gaping open. Chad grimaced. "You look like a fish, my Lord," he said. "I suggest you close your mouth and be on your way."

Jared stumbled out of the house, his head spinning, Chad's laughter in his ears. _He_ was Lord Padalecki?

His stepmother had told him, once he was old enough to understand such things, that his father's title and whatever part of his fortune he hadn't left to Dawn had gone to an obscure cousin no one had ever heard of, and wasn't that just such a shame, but Jared was completely dependent on Lady Padalecki's charity now.

It was a charity that she gave grudgingly, meanly, and without kindness or love. Jared's happy nature had annoyed her, and his natural exuberance had been ruthlessly squashed by harsh words and unkind hands.

She and her sons never let Jared forget that he only remained among them on sufferance, and that he deserved little in the way of consideration. He was constantly threatened with being let loose on the streets of London if he did not behave himself and show appropriate gratitude towards the only people who were willing to give him a home, however ungenerously.

He was tolerated, barely so, and while his loving nature could not be held in check, and he could not remain in the doldrums for any length of time, it was a lonely existence for such a boy.

Lord Padalecki? Could this be true? His head spinning, Jared gave himself over to contemplation as his carriage made it's way to Lord and Lady Ross's house.

 

  
  
  
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Jensen looked around the large ballroom and sighed. His parents had spared no expense this evening. There were too many candles to count glowing in their holders and reflected in the mirrors that lined the walls. Beautifully gowned ladies were glittering in their elegant finery and their jewels, twirling around the dance floor with their partners. Enormous flower arrangements covered every surface, pink roses and yellow tulips, white gardenias and blue hyacinths, surrounded by leaves in all shades of green, nestled in tall curved vases of the finest crystal.

The only thing Jensen could imagine that would improve it was a tall, dark man in uniform at his side, dashing and handsome, with warm brown eyes smiling at him.

Jensen blinked the image of Jeff's much-loved face away, impatient with himself. It had been three years, as people had recently taken to reminding him.

The musicians were situated in a small alcove at one end of the ballroom, and the strains of the waltz floated across to Jensen as he stood looking out over the crowd, Christian at his side.

"This is more boring than even I thought possible," Jensen said. He tossed off the last of his wine and set the glass down on the small table beside him.

"Don't say that too loudly, my Lord, your mama approaches," Christian said, with amusement.

"I hate you," Jensen threw at his friend, then turned to address his mother with a smile. "Mama, how are you enjoying your ball?" He bowed low over her hand, and then raised it to his lips, planting a kiss on the soft skin.

Lady Ross looked around her, and then turned a severe eye on her son. "It is _your_ ball, my love, and I would be enjoying it a great deal more if you would occasionally dance with one of the lovely young ladies who are attending it," she said, falsely sweet.

Christian nudged Jensen discreetly with his shoulder and Jensen gritted his teeth and smiled at his mother. "Yes, ma'am, I shall do so on the instant." He cast a hurried eye around the room, until his glance landed on the enchanting and vivacious Miss Danneel Harris. Her shining red hair was done up in a style that allowed several mischievous curls to escape, brushing her shoulders quite charmingly.

She was breathtaking.

Turning to bow to his mother again, he said, "Excuse me, ma'am. I see my possible future bride over there without a dancing partner." His mother frowned at his levity, but did not stop him going.

With Christain at his elbow, Jensen sauntered over to Danneel, who was speaking with an odd-looking fellow with shirt points so high that they almost reached his eyebrows.

"I am loathe to interrupt you, of course, Miss Harris," Jensen said, doing just that, "but would you do me the honor of dancing this next with me?" He paused, cocking his head and listening for a moment. "I fear it is not a waltz this time. What a shame." Christian snorted.

Danneel sparkled up at Jensen. "You just wish for an excuse to put your arm around my waist, my Lord," she said, tapping the arm in question playfully with her fan. The odd-looking fellow seemed somewhat put out by Jensen's sudden appearance at their side. Danneel said, "I am remiss. Viscount Ackles, may I present Misha Collins. He is a friend of my family. And this is Mr. Kane, Sir Jensen's great good friend," she added, gesturing at Christian.

The man at Danneel's side ignored Christian completely and bowed to Jensen, who inclined his head politely. Mr. Collins was tall, dark hair swept up in fashionable curls, and he had the most brilliant blue eyes Jensen had ever seen.

He felt a pull of attraction and he looked at Mr. Collins with interest. Mr. Collins gazed back at him frankly, with no hint of the irritation he had shown only moments earlier at Jensen's interruption of his tete-a-tete with Danneel.

Danneel looked between them, then smiled at Jensen. "Perhaps Mr. Collins would like to dance," she said, twinkling at them.

"Don't be nonsensical, Danneel," Jensen drawled. He smiled his most charming smile. "Perhaps Mr. Collins would prefer to –"

But Jensen never got a chance to elaborate on what Misha Collins might or might not prefer to do. Raucous laughter came from across the ballroom, creating an interruption. Jensen looked over toward the noise, intent on finding the cause.

Michael Rosenbaum seemed to be laughing at his half-brother, Thomas Welling. Jensen frowned. He did not much care for either of the two men, and was not sure why his mother occasionally cultivated the company of their mother.

Christian murmured something rude in his ear about Thomas, and an unwilling laugh escaped him before he sought to turn his attention back to the delightful Mr. Collins.

There was another stir of noise, this time near the entrance to the ballroom, and Jensen could see that a latecomer had arrived. This was unusual, as his mother was a stickler for punctuality, but this ball was different from the usual parties Lady Ross held, and no one was likely to be turned away tonight.

This ball was for Jensen to find someone to spend the rest of his life with, and while he may be fighting against his mother's interference, he couldn't deny that the company she had gathered this evening held all the choices he could have wished for, if he had the heart to make such a choice.

That is to say, he wouldn't have denied it until this very moment. Up until this moment, he would have said all the most beautiful and desirable men and women in society were all here in his family's ballroom. It would not have occurred to him to lament the absence of a man so tall, dark, and handsome that it put every other man in the place to shame.

Here was a man with broad shoulder and slim hips, with silky brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. He gazed frankly around the room, and when his eyes found Jensen, the smile that lit up his face put the many candles to shame with it's brightness. Twin dimples appeared on either side of that amazing smile, which framed straight white teeth, and a pink tongue came out to quickly lick across a bottom lip that Jensen thought he might die for the chance to taste.

Jensen felt something stir deep inside him that he had never expected to feel again.

He broke away from Danneel and Mr. Collins without a word, and walked straight across the room to the unknown latecomer, ignoring Christian's "Jen! Where are you going?"

 

  
  
  
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Jared stopped in the entryway to the grand ballroom, looking on in awe. He had never seen so many glittering candles in his life. Lady Padalecki's parties, the ones he'd been privileged to catch a glimpse of, anyway, were usually paltry affairs, with boring company and badly chosen wine, trifling games of cards and poorly played music.

This, this was amazing, and he hoped he hadn't been standing there like a marble statue for very long. That would not make much of a first impression on anyone who may have been watching, at least not an encouraging one.

Jared surveyed the ballroom, once he was no longer quite as dazzled by the sight of every fashionable person of the ton squeezed into one room, albeit a large one, drinking, dancing, laughing, talking, and flirting. He'd understood that this ball was meant as a way for Sir Jensen to look over all available prospects, matrimonial or not, much like one would expect to look over horses to choose the best one, but Viscount Ackles didn't appear to be much interested in the sad crush of people in the ballroom.

Instead, he was focused on the man beside Sir Jensen. Jared felt a flare of something he thought might be jealousy when the man, who was shorter than the Viscount, with brown hair pulled back into a tie and intense blue eyes, placed his hand on Sir Jensen's arm and they laughed intimately together.

The shorter man gestured at something across the ballroom, and Sir Jensen laughed again. Following the direction of the gesture, Jared spied his stepbrother Tom bowing low to a small, dark-haired young lady, who was shaking her head with a moue of distaste on her lips. Michael stood nearby, watching his brother with an expression of such derision on his face that Jared almost laughed, too. He had seen that expression on occasions too numerous to count, usually, but not always, directed at himself, and it always brought out the worst in Tom when it was aimed at _him._

Jared hoped the evening would not end in fisticuffs between his stepbrothers, not because he cared for their embarrassment, but because he did not wish for Sir Jensen's comfort to be disturbed.

Then Sir Jensen turned his head and caught sight of Jared. He stood stock-still while the laughter seemed to die in his throat. He stared across the room, and Jared met his gaze head-on. Jared wondered idly if the rest of the company could see the sparks flying between them as they focused on each other. It was more intense than anything Jared had yet experienced.

Sir Jensen gazed at Jared as if he had never seen anything quite like him before.

They moved together, in unison across the room. The brown-haired man who had been laughing with Sir Jensen watched their progress with interest. When the two men came together, they stopped, each observing the other carefully. With less than two feet of space between them, Sir Jensen bowed.

"Welcome," he said. His green eyes glittered in the candlelight, something in them that made Jared's heart beat faster. He bowed in turn.

"Thank you, my Lord," Jared said. They had exchanged only a few words, but already the tension between them was palpable.

"May I offer you a glass of champagne?" Sir Jensen asked, stopping a passing footman holding a tray of glasses aloft.

"Yes, thank you," Jared said again. Sir Jensen snagged two of the sparkling glasses and handed one to Jared. Jared's fingers burned where they brushed the other man's. He looked to see Sir Jensen watching him with smoldering eyes, and Jared's answering gaze was full of heat.

He had no idea what had come over him, but it didn't seem of much importance. He barely saw anyone else, the ballroom was simply a blur of sound and motion, nothing else. Sir Jensen was as beautiful as Jared had remembered him, and yes, Jared had been right, his eyes were green.

There was no way Jared could have seen, in the dim light of the stable on that long ago day, that Sir Jensen's face was sprinkled with enough freckles to make any young lady reach desperately for the powder. Jared thought it was the most endearing thing he had ever seen.

Sir Jensen turned without a word, and stalked toward a small alcove off the ballroom. Jared followed him, his feet in motion before he was even aware of moving.

There was a heavy curtain across the opening to the alcove, and Sir Jensen pushed it aside with a jerky motion. Jared ducked inside and Sir Jensen turned to face him. They stood there motionless for a moment, and then Sir Jensen shoved Jared into the wall behind him, fastening his lips on Jared's mouth.

Jared felt as if the only way he could get enough breath to survive was if he were to kiss Jensen and never stop.

Finally, Sir Jensen pushed him away, wiping the corner of his mouth delicately with this thumb. Jared swallowed, his eyes never leaving Jensen's face.

Distractedly, Sir Jensen looked around until he spotted the glass of champagne he'd hastily placed on the small inlaid table in the corner of the alcove. He tipped it back and drained it at once, the alcohol adding to the flush on his face.

"I don’t even know your name," he said, unevenly.

Jared's breath caught in his throat. He didn't know how to respond. Was he really Lord Padalecki? He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, not tonight."

Jensen looked as if he were about to argue, so Jared moved forward, taking Jensen's mouth in another bruising kiss. The champagne glass fell from Jensen's hand as his arms went around Jared's neck, tugging him down to allow Jensen to kiss him thoroughly.

"I must be mad," Jensen said, pulling away finally. "I don't know what's come over me tonight." Jared smiled at him. "It is you, I think. You have intoxicated me."

Jared laughed. "You have me confused with the champagne, my Lord," he said.

"No, no, it is you, I am sure of it," Jensen murmured, moving to the small settee next to the little table. He sat, pulling Jared down beside him. "If you will not tell me your name, tell me something else about yourself. Something true."

Jared hesitated. There were many things he could tell Sir Jensen about his life, but none of them were of any particular interest. "I am just a man," he said. "I have done nothing remarkable in my life. _I_ am not remarkable."

"Everyone is remarkable in some way," Jensen protested. "I think you are quite extraordinary. You are tall, and handsome and you have laughing eyes."

"Some would say too tall, I am afraid," Jared said. "And laughing is my favorite of all things to do."

"Then I should like to see you do much of it," Jensen murmured in his ear. "I shall make you laugh at least once a day."

"We have met before," Jared confessed quietly. "You would not remember," he hastened to add, as Jensen seemed about to speak. "But you were kind to me, and you told me that everybody was somebody."

"Surely I would remember meeting you," Jensen said. He frowned. "I insist that you tell me."

"Do you know you look like a little boy when you pout?" Jared asked fondly.

"I do _not_ pout," Jensen said. The corner of his mouth twitched, just a bit. "Although my mother would not agree with me, I think." But he dropped the subject of when they had met before, and Jared was satisfied.

"Do you know that your eyes are sad?" Jared asked. "They are beautiful, but they are sad, even when you are laughing with your friends." He traced one of Jensen's eyebrows with his finger. Jensen's eyes fluttered closed at the touch. He nodded.

"I…lost someone," he said, simply.

"Someone you loved very much," Jared guessed.

"Yes." They sat in silence, and Jared took Jensen's hand in his, rubbing his thumb across Jensen's knuckles.

"I am sorry," Jared said.

Jensen inclined his head. "I am, too. Thank you. He was a soldier."

"Thank you for telling me."

Jensen didn’t seem inclined to speak more on the matter, and Jared did not ask. He felt honored that Jensen trusted him enough to tell him what he did. He swore to himself that he would do whatever was in his power to banish the sadness from Jensen's eyes.

He did not stop to consider how very little power he had. And if he had, it would not have mattered. Nothing seemed impossible tonight.

Jared didn't know how much time passed as they kissed fiercely, then lazily, murmuring to each other, confessing secrets, sharing warm touches in the dark. He pulled back a moment, smiling down at Jensen, who looked up at him with kiss-swollen lips, his tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip, smiling when he tasted Jared there.

From a distance, Jared heard a clock striking. He ignored it, until Chad's voice came to him, penetrating the fog swirling around in his brain.

 _At midnight, the carriage will no longer be available. It will no longer exist._

"I must go!" Jared gasped, pulling out of Jensen's grasp. He turned, fear making his limbs sluggish. He fought with the heavy drapery across the opening of the little room he and Jensen were secluded in.

"Wait," Jensen exclaimed, his arms still reaching for Jared. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Jared said. "Please, believe that I am sorry." His heart was breaking.

"Please, at least tell me your name," Jensen called after him.

Shaking his head, Jared succeeded in pushing aside the curtain and ran, stumbling, listening to the chiming of the clock, panic making his breath come quickly. He saw the startled faces of people as he pushed past them, but he paid them no mind as he hurried out of the ballroom.

As he ran to the door, one of his shoes came off his foot, but he had no time to stop. He disregarded it and continued on. His carriage was waiting at the front door, and he leaped in and slammed the door shut behind him.

The carriage lunged forward, the horses plunging in their harness, and Jared leaned back against the cushioned seat, feeling sick with despair.

Jensen. He had had to leave Sir Jensen, and it felt as if his heart would never recover.

They barely made it to the house in Grosvenor Street in time. No sooner did Jared climb down from the carriage than it vanished, leaving Sadie and Harley in place of the driver and the footman. Sadie looked up at him with sad eyes, and Harley whined low in his throat.

Jared took one last look at the night sky, stars shining bright above him, before moving around to the back of the house, and in through the kitchen door. It would not do for anyone to see him enter through the front door.

When he reached his bedchamber, he realized his clothing was the same wine-stained coat and pants he had been wearing before Chad showed up. The only thing left of the outfit he'd worn to the ball was the single, elegant shoe he still wore on his left foot.

He took it off, sliding his fingers over the fine leather, then tucked it away at the bottom of the chest where he kept the single toy he remembered his father giving him as a child.

Jared undressed for bed slowly, sadly, trying to keep his mind blank. Once he was beneath the covers, however, he could not stop the thoughts and memories from coming.

He touched his lips, and his fingers found them cold. He longed for the warmth of Jensen's mouth, swore he could still feel the tingle of the heated, champagne kisses they had shared so happily.

Jared closed his eyes and waited for sleep to overtake him. The sense of loss he felt was deep, close to overwhelming. He could almost wish he had never gone to the Ross's ball that evening.

It had been the most wonderful night in all his life, and it had been the most terrible. As his eyes finally drifted shut, he wondered distantly if he'd ever recover.

 

  
  
  
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Jensen paced the length of his mother's drawing room, his fists opening and closely rhythmically in his agitation. "I cannot believe it," he said, for what was perhaps not the first time.

Christian sighed patiently. "Jensen," he began. "My lord, I really think –"

Jensen spun around to stare at his best friend. "Don't you _Jensen_ me," he snapped. "What in the hell could he have been thinking, taking off like that? In the middle of the ball, in the middle of –" he broke off, not wanting to share with Christian just what the tall stranger had left in the middle of. He thought again of those warm, responsive lips, that welcoming mouth, and how just the memory of a bright smile could make Jensen's insides feel as if he'd been thrown from the back of his fastest, most untamed horse. "Damn him." He closed his eyes, close to despair.

He started and opened his eyes when he felt Christian's hand on his shoulder. "Jen," he said softly.

"Chris, I cannot lose him," Jensen said hoarsely. "I will see him in hell first."

"Your mother is coming, if I'm not mistaken," Christian said, withdrawing his hand and giving Jensen time to compose himself. "I would suggest your moderate your language, my Lord."

Jensen's lips flattened. He cared nothing for his mother's sensibilities, although he was not foolish enough to express that thought aloud.

"My love, what is all this pacing?" Lady Ross asked as she swept into the room. "What will it accomplish?" She graciously accepted the glass of ratafia Christian handed her. Taking a sip, she watched Jensen over the rim of the glass, her eyes sympathetic.

"Accomplish? It accomplishes nothing, ma'am. Nothing whatsoever that I can find," Jensen said in frustration.

"Then we must decide what to do that is more to the purpose," Lady Ross pronounced calmly.

"If you can think of such a thing, Mama, I should be glad to hear of it." If he hadn't been so angry, Jensen knew he would be dangerously close to pouting. As it was, his words sounded petulant, even in his own ears. He thought of Jared's teasing last night, and swallowed.

His mother smiled softly at him. "Yes, my love, and so you shall." She turned to Christian. "Christian, where is the young man's shoe?" she inquired.

"I have it right here, Lady Ross," Christian said, producing a large, elegant black shoe from inside his coat with the pleased air of a conjurer producing a rabbit from a hat.

Jensen boggled at them both. "And what am I to do with a shoe?" he inquired politely through his teeth.

"Don't grind your jaw like that, dear. You'll give yourself a headache." His mother smiled and Christian coughed, no doubt to hide a laugh.

Jensen did not bother to retort. "Well?" he asked impatiently.

"Look at this shoe, Jensen," Christian said, holding it out. Jensen took it gingerly and looked at it. He shrugged and looked back at his friend.

"You are very blockish today, my dear, aren't you?" Lady Ross said. "It is a very large shoe, is it not?"

"Yes," said Jensen, having not the slightest idea where this was going. It was no doubt a very large shoe, but what that had to do with the matter at hand was beyond him.

"The young man who wore it was very tall, was he not?" Jensen's mother looked not unlike a very satisfied cat that had eaten a bowl of cream. Or, perhaps, a small bird. He almost expected to see her lick her lips in smug satisfaction.

"Yes." Jensen thought of the young man's height, how Jensen had had to tilt his head up to meet his lips, how he had placed a hand on one broad shoulder, the other hand on the back of the young man's neck, the better to pull him down into their kisses. He cleared his throat and turned slightly away from the window, so as to hide his reddened cheeks.

"What do you think, Christian?" Lady Ross kindly did not mention Jensen's discomfiture. "I am not so conversant with men's fashion as I might be."

That was patently untrue. Jensen's mother knew a great deal about fashion of every sort. She continued thoughtfully, "Do you imagine there are many men as tall as Jensen's young man, who wear a shoe of such a large size?"

Jensen looked quickly at his mother, beginning to see some of what she had in mind. She smiled kindly at him.

"No, m'lady, I don’t believe there are," Christian said, smiling also.

"And do you think, Christian, that if you and my son were to take this shoe around, visit some of the people who attended the ball last night, make some enquiries, you may be able to find the owner of this shoe?" Her eyes twinkled, and Jensen wanted to tell her how very much he loved her.

"Why, yes, ma'am, I believe it might be possible." Christian grinned widely at Jensen. "What say you, my Lord? Shall we embark upon such a task? Or would you deem it useless?"

His heart leaping with hope, Jensen retorted, "By God, what are we waiting for?" He rang the bell.

"Winchester, I am going out," Jensen told the butler who entered the room in answer to the bell. "I shall need my hat and my cloak, and have the carriage pulled around, with my fastest pair of grays in the harness."

"Yes, sir," Winchester replied. Jensen and Chris made to follow him from the room.

Lady Ross put a warm hand on Jensen's arm, and looked up at him with tenderness. "Your young man has banished the sadness from your eyes, my love. Please find him and bring him here to me, so that I may give him my thanks."

Jensen bent and kissed his mother on the cheek, her perfumed skin soft under his lips.

"So I shall, Mother," he said. "So I shall."

 

  
  
  
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Sadie was once again nudging Jared's hand with her head, while Harley leaned against his leg. As always, they were a comfort to him as Jared went about the business of being who he was.

He stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, holding a polishing rag in one hand and a silver fish knife in the other, but all thoughts of polishing anything had long since fled.

The sounds of an altercation came to him out of the drawing room, Michael's voice raised in irritation, followed by Tom's dull rumblings. Lady Padalecki's shrill voice added a counter-point whenever there was a lull in the shouting.

"I'm telling you, Mother, you would not have believed it had you seen it for yourself. It was quite brazen – the big oaf went smash up to Lord Ackles without any regard for propriety. None at all," Tom proclaimed indignantly.

"Had you not managed to get yourself into an altercation with the Earl of Sandborn, my dear brother, I daresay you would have had the opportunity for brazenness yourself," Michael drawled, scorn dripping from every word.

" _I_ have no wish to align myself with another man, Michael," Tom spluttered. "I have no designs on Viscount Ackles' fortune."

"More fool you, then," returned Michael. "Sir Jensen quite obviously prefers his men big and blockish, and had you gotten there first, the chance might have been yours."

"You are the one who prefers men to women," Tom said. "You could have pursued Viscount Ackles yourself last evening, yet you spent your time dangling after Miss McCoy."

"I have been friendly with Jensen these many years," Michael said loftily. "I need no ball for me to make my move. And I seem to recall that _you_ were the one Miss McCoy so successfully shot down," he added snidely.

"And yet you have waited until it is too late and Viscount Ackles' attention has been caught by the rather oafish young man from last night," Lady Padalecki interjected. "You are both fools and deserve to be as penniless as your fathers were." She paused, and then said, "I was in one of the small card rooms, engaged in a game of whist. Tell me about the young man Sir Jensen seemed to be so taken with."

"He was quite unnaturally tall," Tom started. Jared smiled down at Harley. That was what Tom always said about anyone taller than himself. "Very well-dressed, I must admit. His hair was a pleasing shade of brown, and that is all I saw of him. He and Sir Jensen disappeared so quickly that it was difficult to tell much more about him."

"There was something familiar about the way he walked, but I have not yet been able to put my finger on it," Michael said slowly.

Their conversation was brought to a sudden halt, as was Jared's eavesdropping, by a loud knocking on the front door.

Kripke appeared in the hall, moving to the door, disapproval at those who would knock in such an unmannerly fashion clear in the set of his shoulders. When he opened the door and saw who stood upon the doorstep, however, his demeanor changed completely, and he ushered the visitors in, deference in his every move.

Viscount Ackles and his dark-haired friend entered, and Jared shrunk back into the shadows of the staircase, as much as a man of his size could shrink, anyway. He didn't dare show himself, but he felt a spike of excitement and anticipation at seeing Sir Jensen again.

He hadn't been sure he ever would.

He wondered briefly what Sir Jensen would say, if suddenly confronted by the man he had spent the past evening with, the way they had spent it. Would he still want Jared if he could see him here, the real Jared? The way his stepmother and brothers saw him?

Jared stayed hidden. He felt like a coward.

Sir Jensen looked tired and discouraged, and his friend looked rather amused. The shorter man was holding an awkward sort of package in his hands.

"Kripke, I need to see Mr. Welling and Mr. Rosenbaum, if you please," Sir Jensen said, rather shortly. "This is ridiculous, Christian," he murmured in an aside to his friend. "It cannot possibly belong to either of these two,"

"You must say you tried everyone, it is only fair," the man named Christian replied solemnly. Jared thought he must be mistaken at the twinkle in his eye. Surely he was not drawing amusement from Sir Jensen's obvious consternation. "Seriously, my Lord, they may be able to give us a hint about who it might belong to."

At that moment, Lady Padalecki opened the drawing room door. "Kripke, who is making that ill-bred racket?" She caught sight of Sir Jensen and his friend and her eyes lit up with pleasure. "Ah, Lord Ackles, how good to see you, and so soon after your wonderful ball." She extended her hand and Jensen had no choice but to take it, bestowing a perfunctory kiss on her fingers. She turned her smile on the man at his side. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, sir?"

"This is my great friend, Mr. Christian Kane, ma'am," Sir Jensen said. "Lady Padalecki."

"How do you do, ma'am?" Mr. Kane said, bowing over Lady Padalecki's hand in turn.

"What brings you here, sir?" Lady Padalecki asked, with her most charming smile.

"I would ask a favor of your sons, my Lord," Sir Jensen answered.

"Certainly." Lady Padalecki inclined her head towards the drawing room. When the door closed behind them and Kripke had made his stately way towards the back of the house, Jared emerged from his hiding place and took up his position again, his ear pressed against the smooth wood of the door.

"A shoe?" Jared heard Lady Padalecki's voice rise in the greatest astonishment. "You wish my sons to try on a shoe?"

"Yes, well, to _examine_ the shoe. Perhaps recognize it as one of their own," came Sir Jensen's voice, and Jared had to admire his coolness. It was a somewhat ridiculous request.

"There was someone at the ball last evening," he explained. "We were having quite an interesting…conversation, yes, and he had to leave very suddenly. He lost, that is to say, he left his shoe behind. I did not catch his name, and I am trying to find the owner of the shoe." Jared was very curious to know if Jensen had been able to say that last without suffering from acute embarrassment.

He wished very much that he could see the expressions on everyone's faces. He could only imagine the looks of astonishment his stepbrothers must be casting at Jensen, and the amusement no doubt written on Mr. Kane's face.

There was a long silence, and then Lady Padalecki said, "Michael, I think you must go first, my love. Come, take the shoe and examine it very closely."

Michael had been uncharacteristically silent until this point, but now he laughed and said, "Of course, Mother. Whatever Sir Jensen wants, he must surely have."

A moment or two, and Michael's voice came again. "Alas, it is a very large shoe, and my feet are not so large as that. But I think you already knew that, my Lord, did you not?"

There was no answer except Lady Padalecki saying, rather sharply, "Look lively, now, Thomas. It is your turn."

"Yes, I'm sure this is my shoe," Tom said. He must have changed his mind and decided that Sir Jensen's gender would not be allowed to stand in the way of a chance to share in his fortune, at least in the presence of his mother.

There was a long pause and then Jared heard a series of grunts. "Damn, this shoe is even too big for me," Thomas said explosively. "Surely this person you seek is a freak of nature, to have feet so large."

Jared took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Things had taken such a farcical turn at this point that he determined it was time to reveal himself. Perhaps it was time to set things straight.

Jared chose his moment to open the door and enter the drawing room. "This is ridiculous," Sir Jensen was saying to Mr. Kane. "I know these men, and they are not the man I was engaged with last night. We waste our time here, Christian."

"May I see the shoe?" Jared asked quietly, just as his presence was noted by the company. They stood like statues and stared at him, apparently all of them at a loss for words.

Lady Padalecki recovered first, of course. "No, you may not! What are you doing in here, boy? You are not suited to be here, now go! Go back to the kitchens where you belong." Her voice was full of contempt, and Michael smiled smugly at Jared.

"No, wait," Jensen said, holding out his hand. He was looking at Jared with dawning recognition in his eyes. Again, Lady Padalecki tried to protest. "I wish him to wait," Jensen declared sharply. Jared's stepmother subsided, scowling.

Jared sat down in the armchair by the fire and held out his hand for the shoe. He felt a bit foolish, but Jensen smiled at him reassuringly, so he smiled back and bent to take off the rough shoe that was all he had to wear. As Kane offered him the shoe, there was a sudden movement and Michael seemed to stumble forwards, clutching at Kane's arm.

Jared looked on in horror as the black leather shoe flew through the air and landed in the fireplace, nestling down amongst the flames that were merrily burning there.

No one moved. They were all stunned into silence.

"Oh, dear," Michael finally drawled. "I am so sorry, my Lord. What have I done in my clumsiness? I can't imagine what came over me."

Jared stood quickly, heading for the door. As he reached it, he turned and said urgently to Jensen, "Please don't leave yet, my Lord. I shall be right back." Jensen looked into his eyes and smiled. He nodded at Jared.

Jared left the room and hurried up the stairs to his bedchamber, loud voices from the drawing room drifting up after him. He found the chest where he kept his most treasured possessions and pulled out the matching shoe to the one Michael had just thrown into the fire. He ran back down the stairs, but found his way blocked when he reached the bottom.

"No," Tom said. "You are nobody. I’ll not let you." He seemed to think he was looming threateningly over Jared, but he just couldn't manage those extra inches to make it happen. He raised his fists and took another step closer.

And then Jared heard growling, and Harley and Sadie placed themselves between Jared and Tom. Harley bared his teeth and Tom took a step backwards. By that point the others had joined them in the hallway.

"That vicious beast is attacking my Thomas!" Lady Padalecki cried. "Stop him!"

"He is doing no such thing, ma'am, I assure you," Jared said. "He is merely protecting _me_ from attack." He held his hand out for Jensen to see what he held. It was the matching shoe, and Jensen smiled happily.

"It is indeed you," he exclaimed.

"Yes, it is me. I'm not sure why you needed a shoe to tell you that," Jared teased. Christian laughed, and Jensen blushed. "A kiss would have done as well," Jared said boldly.

Jensen leaned up then, and placing his hand on Jared's hip, kissed him firmly on the lips.

"You are right," Jensen said. "I should indeed have known you anywhere."

 

  
  
  
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 _Epilogue_

 

"Stop fussing, Jen," Jared said, as Jensen untied what Jared guessed was his fifth starched cravat, at least, and pulled it from around his neck.

"I cannot get the bloody thing to lay right," Jensen said. "I'm not going to wear a neck cloth." He tossed his latest sartorial casualty aside.

Jared scoffed. "Yes, you are. Your mother would have my blood if I allowed you to attend this dinner without being properly attired. Come here." He pulled Jensen to him, clasping his shoulder in one hand, tilting his chin up for a kiss with his other. There was one more neckcloth, not yet ruined by Jensen's nerve-clumsy fingers, sitting on the dresser. Jared picked it up and wrapped it around Jensen's neck. "Hold still."

Jensen allowed it, allowed Jared to arrange his cravat in some sort of complicated arrangement that Jensen couldn't have managed right now if his very life depended on it. Not to mention, the feel of Jared's fingers brushing over his throat made him shiver, and that indeed interfered with his concentration.

Jared smiled at him and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

"Why are you so calm?" Jensen enquired. "I would have thought you to be more nervous than I tonight?"

"Why" Jared asked curiously. "It is only your family, and they do not scare me."

"You know that is not entirely true," Jensen said, giving his appearance one last look in the mirror.

"Yes, perhaps you're right. Your sister Mackenzie can be alarming on occasion. She –"

"My sister is perfectly harmless, and you know it." Jensen scolded. He cocked his head to study Jared more closely. "And they are not the only people who will be at dinner, you know."

"I know," Jared answered him calmly. "But I ceased to be nervous in the company of my stepmother and stepbrothers the day I found you again."

Jensen nodded. "Then, if you are finally ready, we should go down." He grinned up at Jared.

"If _I_ am finally ready?" Jared nipped in to steal another kiss, and Jensen gave it to him gladly. "You shall pay for that later, my Lord."

"I shall look forward to it, my Lord," Jensen answered, and they left the room and headed for the party below.

They descended the stairs together, shoulder-to-shoulder. Harley and Sadie were at the foot of the stairs, and Jared rubbed between Harley's ears as they passed.

Jensen had not counted on there being so many people to greet them when they entered the drawing room. Everyone, it appeared, had gathered a bit early, and they all looked up as Jensen and Jared entered the room.

To be sure, they made a striking picture; Jensen was well aware of that. Jared was tall, and his dark hair and slightly slanted eyes competed for attention with his broad shoulders and stunning physique. His cheerful smile and kind air only added to his beauty.

Jensen knew well what he himself looked like. He had owned a mirror all his life, to be sure. He was dispassionate about his own appearance, but knew well that he was considered handsome. He thought his height and green eyes complemented Jared to perfection.

Lady Ross positively beamed at them, and Lord Ross nodded approvingly. Joshua and his wife, who was increasing greatly and nearing her time of confinement, smiled. Jensen's younger sister, MacKenzie, who was hovering about her sister-in-law with offers of shawls, fans, and restorative toddies, flickered her eyes over them appreciatively.

They had not been long in the drawing room when Winchester, the Ackles' butler, appeared at the door. "Lady Padalecki," he announced gravely. "And her sons, Mr. Thomas Welling and Mr. Michael Rosenbaum."

Lady Padalecki swept into the room, followed by Tom and Michael. Jared watched them without expression, not allowing his face to give anything away. Jensen's hand tightened on his wine glass, until Jared gently removed it and placed it carefully on the side table.

"Be careful, you'll break something," he said quietly in Jensen's ear.

"I would like that very much," Jensen answered grimly. Jared huffed a small laugh.

Lady Ross stepped forward, graciously holding out her hand. "Dawn, how lovely to see you. And you've brought your charming sons, I see." Jensen smiled proudly to himself. When it came to gentle sarcasm disguised as politeness, his mother cast everyone else in the shade.

Lady Padalecki took her hand, two spots of color high on her cheeks, and inclined her head slightly. "Lady Ross." She curtsied in the general direction of Lord Ross, who was standing behind his wife, looking very forbidding.

Tom and Michael stood on either side of their mother. They both appeared to be very ill at ease.

If Jared felt any desire to soften at the sight of his father's wife looking uncomfortable, it passed when Michael looked over at him, and catching his eye, smirked. Jared could have sworn he heard Jensen growl at his side.

"We have asked you here this evening, my dear Dawn, not to dine with us as a family, but to inform you that the entails have been straightened out. Jared, here," and she smiled at him softly before turning hard eyes back on Lady Padalecki, "is now properly Lord Padalecki, and your solicitor has been arrested."

Jensen's mother then turned her attention to Tom and Michael. "You seem quite fond of gaiety and sport, sirs," she said. "Of partying and of the theatre." She considered them as if they were specimens in a zoo for a moment, and then said, "You shall be sad to miss out on so many pleasures while you are rusticating, I should think, but some time in the country will do you both good."

Michael seemed about to protest, but apparently thought better of when he laid eyes on Jensen's stern countenance. One look at the Ackles family arrayed in a semi-circle, Jared tucked in their midst, was apparently enough to cause Michael to close his mouth with an audible snap. Tom stood there looking rather stupid, staring at Lady Ross with his handsome mouth hanging open.

"Your country home must be so beautiful this time of year," Lady Ross murmured, addressing her words to Lady Padalecki. "You shall not mind being away from the bustle of town for so many months." She smiled sweetly, and Jensen had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his happy laughter inside.

"Now, I am sure you expected something rather different when you accepted the invitation to dine this evening, but I am afraid covers have only been laid for a _family_ party tonight. So we must bid you all good evening."

Lady Padalecki bristled, and Tom seemed inclined to want to answer the insult to his mother, but Winchester appeared to usher them out. When the door closed behind them, Tom's voice ringing out, "By Jove, I've half a mind to –" and Michael answering, "Yes, half a mind is all you do have," the party assembled in the drawing room gave vent to their feelings and began to laugh, even Lord Ross going so far as to chuckle fondly at his wife.

"Dinner is served, madam," Winchester spoke from the doorway, and Jensen offered his arm to his mother. She shook her head at him.

"I prefer Jared's arm, dear, if you don’t mind." Jared laughed again, and Jensen raised his eyebrows. "He has put the smile back in your eyes."

"To be sure, Mother. I have a fondness for his arm, myself." Now it was Jared's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Never mind, Jensen, you may escort me into dinner," Mackenzie said soothingly.

So, with Lord Ross bringing up the rear, they headed in to dinner together.

And they lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> So very many thanks to [info]annkiri, who was a most helpful and patient beta, right up until the last minute. If it wasn't for her, you wouldn't care about these people at all. Thanks also to [info]topaz119 for encouraging me to keep a lid on the more exuberant Regency-speak. She wouldn't let me reread any Georgette Heyer along the way. And also to Ashley, who had many helpful suggestions and kind words. This is very much the Disney version.


End file.
